Mourning Doves. Helen Forrester

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded. She knew only too well from experience, and, in her despair, she wondered how she could endure being racked by childbirth almost every year of her life.

      As it happened, Celia was not left alone with Phyllis, because Dorothy came up with buckets of coal and wood chips and yesterday’s newspaper tucked under her arm, to make a fire to warm the room for the arrival of the new infant. She had reluctantly relinquished Eric to a buoyant Ethel, who was undeterred by Eric’s howls and flying little fists. She picked him up and held him firmly against her shoulder, as she ran down the front steps.

      As Dorothy expertly built the fire, she realised that she was enjoying the unusual morning. ‘Young Eric went off quite happy with Ethel, Ma’am,’ she told Phyllis. She paused while she screwed up the newspaper and laid loose balls of it in the fire grate. ‘She comes from a family of thirteen, so she’s fine with children. Lovely little fella, he is,’ she added.

      Phyllis nodded, and then gave a long, slow moan. God help me if I have to go through this thirteen times, she thought.

      Celia leaned over and put an arm round her. Phyllis’s face was contorted; then, to Celia’s relief, she relaxed, and said in her usual soft tones, ‘Thank you, Dorothy, for managing him so well.’

      ‘It were nothin’, Ma’am.’ Dorothy was acquainted with Mrs Woodcock’s Lily and knew all about Arthur Woodcock’s relations with his wife. Both maids had lost sweethearts in France and had little hope of marrying. They were agreed, however, that it was better to be single than have a nit-picking husband like him. She picked up a pair of bellows lying in the hearth and blew the struggling fire until the coals had caught thoroughly.

      As she tidied up the hearth, and with a polite bob towards the bed, went slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, her mood changed. If her Andy had survived the second battle of the Marne and come home last year, she could have been hoping for a baby now, even though she was middle-aged. Andy would have made a great dad, like the old man who was his dad, she thought wistfully. Pity they’d waited so long, though seven years’ engagement wasn’t that long. After all, you were supposed to save before you could marry. Not that she had saved when she had been working in the ordnance factory. Easy come, easy go.

      As she washed the coal dust off her hands in the pannikin in the kitchen sink, she smiled and shrugged her shoulders at the memory of the good times she and Andy had had when he had come home on leave.

      Forget it, she told herself. You could have been stranded now, with a young baby to bring up alone. It was going to be hard enough to find a new, decent place without a child. With one, she wouldn’t have a hope.

      A bell on its spring near the kitchen ceiling rang suddenly.

      She grinned wryly to herself as she dried her hands on the kitchen roller towel. Miss Celia getting into a panic, no doubt.

      Winnie was busy pouring hot water into a big breakfast teapot. As she laid the pot on the tray she had prepared, she chuckled. A similar thought had occurred to her. As Dorothy quickly took off her enshrouding sacking apron which she used for rough work, the cook said, ‘It won’t hurt Miss Celia to see a birth – it’s probably the only chance she’ll get! And any woman ought to know what to do. Here, take the tray up to them.’

      Dorothy’s small mouth quirked into a smile of agreement. ‘Oh, aye, if she does, she’s going to be proper shocked. She don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. I’d bet on it.’

      

      Years later, after another war, looking back on that day, Celia had smiled. She had been terrified. But in a few hours, she had learned so much about women, she considered; that they could organise in a crisis, work through it together, be brave under suffering. And, further, that you did not know what friendship meant until you had faced crises together.

      It changed for ever her ideas of what women could do, without men to tell them what incompetent fools they were. They had, of course, sent for the doctor – male – but, unlike her father, he had actually approved of their efforts on Phyllis’s behalf.

       Chapter Eleven

      Because she had no idea at what point in the proceedings the baby would arrive, Celia had rung the bell when a much sharper pang had struck Phyllis; instead of a moan, she had suddenly cried out.

      By the time Dorothy had navigated two flights of stairs with the tea tray, Phyllis was more relaxed and was whispering an apology to Celia for being such a coward.

      Dorothy put down the tray on the dressing table, and inquired if Madam would like a cup of tea.

      Facing for the moment only an awful ache round her waist, Madam said with a sigh that she would, so Celia propped her up a little with an extra pillow and held the cup while she sipped. Dorothy filled another cup and set it down on the bedside table near Celia.

      Since Phyllis did not seem threatened by another immediate spasm and Celia’s face was an unearthly white, the maid tried to reassure Celia by saying, ‘Don’t fret, Miss. You drink your tea, too. It’ll be a bit yet afore the baby comes. The pains come quick when baby is actually on its way. Winnie’s got the kettle on for when the doctor comes, and she’s going to make a bit of lunch for everyone.’

      The reminder that the doctor would be coming was a comfort, and Celia felt a little better. In fact, Louise had only just finished her toilet, when he arrived.

      While Celia and her mother retired to a corner of the room, he did a quick examination of his patient, then pulled down her nightgown and neatly replaced the sheet and blanket over her. He assured the struggling mother that the baby appeared to be positioned correctly and that he did not expect the delivery to be difficult.

      Phyllis told him that she had arranged for Mrs Fox, the midwife, to help with the delivery, but that she had been caught unexpectedly in dear Mrs Gilmore’s house, and that Mrs Gilmore had sent for him.

      ‘Excellent. Excellent woman, Mrs Fox,’ he said, as he picked up his hat. ‘She has a telephone by which she can be reached – the chemist next door to her is very obliging in this respect. I’ll phone her as soon as I get back to the surgery.’ He patted Phyllis’s hand, and when Louise came forward, he told her, ‘I doubt if Mrs Woodcock will need my services, but I expect you have someone you could send for me, if Mrs Fox feels it necessary?’

      All the women were reassured by the doctor’s visit, and, when warm, friendly Mrs Fox rolled quietly into the bedroom, her tiny slippered feet making no sound on the carpet, despite her vast bulk, Phyllis greeted her with pleasure before suddenly arching her back and emitting a sharp scream.

      Shocked, Celia spilled some of Phyllis’s second cup of tea as she hastily put the cup down on the bedside table. She looked imploringly at Mrs Fox as she straightened herself up. Phyllis’s eyes were closed, and she was taking small, quivering breaths.

      ‘Don’t leave me, Seelee,’ Phyllis breathed and sought for Celia’s hand, which she clutched tightly. Only Celia understood how fretful and awkward Arthur was. She would understand how Phyllis was dreading going home to face his constant nagging, when she would be at her weakest after the ordeal of childbirth; the presence of Celia in his home had never deterred Arthur from humiliating his wife by picking at her whenever he was annoyed. Even if Celia did not understand the root causes of it, her friend had seen enough to understand her terrible underlying unhappiness.

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